Morphology covers all bets. Scars are luxury goods. 
Drapery, French, Italian, English varieties, completes these sentiments. Yet never over stays.  
 
What’s next? I am a crescent metal, easy to pick up, feed and embrace after climate changes. Before that,  
 
to find Fra Angelico innocuous you’re as blind and innocent as any promise keeper.   
 
A stupid promise keeper that housebreaks into almost any sentence ..  
 
.. that’s a bad idea with particularity. Unlike unemployment among household heads, subsequent foreclosures = the largest causes of forcing children into poverty. Which is a true sentence that feels incomplete.

Sonnet 9

Here I am. I may change my mind!
Memo: Mr Frag-mento forgot you. Permission to speak freely, señor? 
We’d sign up for a language for fear of its instincts and nodule [could we?], ah! you are loved by many left behind. Since you are gracious and kind, ecosystems are watched over and settled in the world minus heroic practice, wailing, banging triangles… [yeah, the character Frag-mento winks] … playing lake ballads to some cambrian migratory pattern [your voice is going transparent like children’s eyes]. 

For Frag-mento sides — not with you or me — he’s with agnostic brethren over the cambrian business, Transzendenz, wörtlich or shaded for that. Then he wakes up [at last] — His voice hoarsens when it comes to memory, musical structures, his single life desire being videoed in your presence. Back to you. 

Leading in, wise and cruel.
In sleep even a con anarchist gets immunity. 
Going wide, this is madness, better it were bad news washing over time under preseason wraps. 
Snow this soon is a surprise. (Didn’t know I’m a novice enthusiast, the manner of my pity.) 

Should I despair?
It’s snowing, nothing personal, wafting like foam over my awesome hamlet — 

Further out the world is grown with descriptors peeling off like spiders hustling always. 

C.V.: I’ve misspelled a sign celebrating raven yawns in fair use praxis, and there’s the old age hand hath put connection to an eyesore we dreamed up or could dream up, borrowing a face beauty slandered. Inside, little agency, no intervention, only stripes of ideas multiplying nameless, profane, increasing inventory, keeping faith from their esteemed orientation, mining their richest veins, designing solid, stoic codes that trigger stern satisfaction dusk thru midday, they think: so many infolding explosive arcs of competing constructs up they flare into neat blocks of aqueous shimmer! Blocks we’ve been party to after lunch. 
Hitherto ethos susses southpaw disproportionality, so lovers per lifetime meet their others halfway, borrowing a face, slanting the blurred promise we had or we don’t know we had after hours, letting it die down.

Heavy-lidded, an escort’s sensibility (as if I know any —

There are episode interiors silhouetted in un-analytical projection that screens an ‘official’ episode [how to leave you] : However I believe we’re well past midway nearing the accordion fold of 1 — love time; far from accident the outlines say there’s a double interior where scribbling adjusts to long division, complex facticity that scribbling-2 — hate time — tears open and begins to pick at — to pay 1 off in disappointment, near failure — both scribbling and scribbling-2 climb uphill, still texting incidents, and slide back down just before turning 17, fortune’s bastards biting down, gritting teeth, growing up. 

Yet nothing forgotten, since exploring prediction matters for the next entry, which is easy : A bright skepticism shows up as undead identity. No time!

...cross-pollinate philosophy of science w/ psychoanalysis, nothing strange, a vital lift 

— remember how we expect clarity on motives. Get to the resolute joy, punching bags, time tricks, compress. And therefore check the seams 

Glowing with judo, shimmering — lodging complaints to startle the system to our desire. 

Let’s dance. I defy you.
Empiricists map it, we know.. backing it up w/ inexactitude ’n randomness.
I will be true and change

but pure benefits are sure not to accrue, never grasp for governance of the governed! Wouldn’t you know we and they’re in an infinite series w/in millennia of gossip. (Or from another angle they are the series, livin’ history as we have heard them told.) As you were. 
(Sophocles wrote.) 

My area is interpretive search.



It’s been a while, Sophocles wrote. 
I’ll assume you suspect I know you know. It’s in the literature.
Yet nothing is forgotten.

Adjunct stutterer, I am, I gave away the faculty you gave up 
and I don’t recall forgetting it. Within my 
brain we’ve never misapplied figures, images, anecdotes 
about the medium requesting looted prestige;
              till each to razed oblivion yield.. 
but because I never forget my leftist French brain I’m above lasting memory!  
Always stoked —  
full of light, yess.. there rose  
from poor retention tallies by nature, the pressure  
on the tongue, the tip. 

I see it but am I seeing it? 
 
Were we mannerists, we’d describe this as Absence from This.  
 
Quick version: A wall of calm; also This: The cross-hatching that allowed ancestors to exchange traits for others... has just about run out of steam, my profane friend interjects, & has left us wondering, once more what there is about our plush solitude that makes us think we will ever get out, or even want to.  
 
This version ushers in even more non-urgencies of grueling yet quickened aversion over entropy. 

121:
A friend writes, assurance from dharma augments being & extends our altercations to reproach non absence : all men are bad and not bad

if 

working against deadline we accelerate these limits, ok — 
my stupid mind has a point & I see it. 

Sonnet one two zip.
In my illusion  of minimalism, hammered steel, 
I scored a first wormhole on schedule, a hell of a time. The entity, o no,  
I should say the accretion settled down, a humble salve  
Soon spread over us both, lost, scattered trying to remember and  
  
Simply put, to understand how and now where wounds from speech are   
produced, which sort hits or fits, kind friend .... mimesis within nature,   
uppermost.   
How is sorrow possible, otherwise? 

It was nice to have known you. 
A word travels, calibrated by the ruckus-like paean spoken (rather than speaking) in a large-scale outreach and dialectic — spoken because we both wrote it down to shun sickness, sick of welfare, 
 
license before comeuppance, soul dad —  
 
make that shortstop outreach where all the jazz wears off.  
We’ll sink together deliberately mismatched, true needing yet ignited around the tips by deep compatibility, a healthful state, when we purge  
 
the sea and air cutting up the outside, driving it back to a crawl, to a spot to talk

It takes a while. Day by day. The way 23 hours ago the idea of writing today took a while. Times itself: A mindset occupied, love to call .. this just in — jokes turn into dreams. It’s dreams that forgive us for everything (except melancholia). That’s because ideas, ‘sleeping while awake,’ get downgraded to icy normality, farthest from your sight, trapping you and me inside a force field owing to our expertise. 

So there’s no lack of constancy in experimental states of forgery. 

I’m for a more open openness with plenty of recreation.
(Humanist discourse is indirect.) 

I’m also out on the deep end in my leftwing head where consensus flies around like influenza. (Harder to stay immune now.) There’s a glow in my argumentation like an avalanche that fucks over the machine age. 

116: Someone’s missing. Cabs are scarce at this hour I guess. No? 
 
I’m in no hurry. No alterations. 
 
There are three pleasure substitutes. Here’s one, an itch to have at your consciousness. The tide stands in rain.   
 
A frayed weather pattern is second and last, I admit the context’s normative, blushing with its lil song of guts and neurons no man ever loved — 
 
After Side A deflections accrue. There’s the animal that needs you.  
 
I’m expecting something.  
 
I’m Aldo.  
No, y,ou are.

North American atheism as a quad of hope 
we never come across et tu a parabola intersects,  
a pedigree. Burroughs’ gestures are precise. Bright monied eyes.  
 
Sins tell the story. 
Sparkling motifs climb down  
— there’s a new quad-underground  
— we — some of us — avoid it. Beauty’s veil. Hardly objective,   
 
but a big badge realignment is authentic now,  
hyper-rufflers juxtaposed by an advanced sport.  
So let’s start with comfortable rectangular lascivious shapes,  “And all things turn to fair that eyes can see!”

You may have noticed I write in your face, a kind of praise,
fuzzy & lovely fragrance of rose in reverse choosing you out
of many then forward as backdrop for a dear heart’s new old face 
I’m prone to review, scrunching it up for breakfast. That’s you.

Farewell, my king in sleep. A foot of sleet, your estimate
From the window, eyebrow roughened. 

My views are compatible with yours, that’s the idea, only 
I’m leaving you this fair gift
Outdoors for your extrication from delirium. 
Tho like royalty you’re still by the front door, vulnerable in all good faith, 
& all the bobwhites in Appalachia hush... 

We reach some element (full sail) within the (verse) set where touch management is unleashed, by spirits taught. But the scenery is suddenly beyond diagram while the crew is calmed down by night. There’s a dual nature of ghost anonymity that makes what’s inside disappear, a bright pulling apart at the summitry of escape. 
What’s semiology? My silence enhearsed unless we’re in life to gnarl sparkle to figure it out?  
 
Our novel then will be about reading, a traveled world, not sick of fear of exercise, birthing a slave, volunteering undressed — except for slacks —

Harvey: East of Eden: That time of year with smarter definition. 
How’s that if your electricity is out and your mobile phone is out? 
We needed smarter drywall too, to excite the twilight in the west, 
ferns and moss growing other side after sunset, every-  
thing about the yield blowing in its whereabouts  
news that seals up all the rest 
of perpetual unitary joy...  
 
It must expire. 
 
I liked getting you to this point nourished by discovery. 

72: You devised virtuous lies, I pick that up, smug and cute, 
a braid of welts around your neck.   
 
Taking out details is tele  
-genic living w/ you — so here — my polite form of the welt- 
in-the-universe, comic beaker installed, a recital gas:  
 
Storylines, task scars, thrills, lobster, not crayfish, etc.   
(dogs, false tenebrae, & aimless sky conditions that surround our absorbing Tums)   
to adapt under-the-tongue compliments for insurgents who willingly impart no more to shame.   
  
I’ve just noticed you haven’t said anything, Gabby.   
Let’s rewrite “Biotherm.”
Make it count. In this I fear sarcasm —   
  
Unless I urge the tobacco board (I’m bad at focusing...)    
to hang their names until they won’t balance.   
We stumbled upon a larger issue. “Speaking about it,” laughing again. 

I reach back to no self and no others.

Search terms back into a slurry, plump, downy evanescing in fluff. The slurry rises above affixes and dead gardenias. It’s in her notation. Helium released — thrown in reverse come fall — trees light then darken up amid vilest worms. Better to heal resentment buried in colossal Orpheus, the spontaneous physique. With his gift of sullen agency everything compounded and upcoming’s a take-from in percussive isolation. A bell! Again everything from desolating satire to marsh puissance. 
*  
Don’t care, don’t moan, one lies only about what’s right, so masking one’s vanity becomes the challenge clinging to verse. 

Learning like your sweetest air cannot be but suspect.
I-Ching for dummies (like me): 
Go on. 

Dear United Nations and Plaza, dear young days and darkness in the air.

For all plain speech gets us, dual multiverses judge us / them / anyhow — 
each with our own shoes, lucent gray
with a pebble inside, each unrestrained, given away by the ambush
the one day of all days 
for others in either multiverse, which looks impressive now. 
P.S. The seasons like before are morally exigent, shivering in a synthetic valence, coming back, never. 

Their thoughts wrote all tongues praise your deeds —
Thus scribes were first to note who shall hanker after whom. 
 
False labels don’t work outdoors among Diamondbacks. If you don’t believe me ask them.   
 
In the change-up everything is repurposed losing you to conceptual deflation 
Before the golden tresses of the dead.  

Psychotropic bios diagnosed as bare truth 
Stratagems. Add the rank

One concentrates on the next available beauty, lived and died with 
Until one goes broke — summarily one is screwed of what beauty was.  
I then center on perception (for another), sustaining losses out of irony. 

Sonnet 60:
These 3-D models hasten sea waves, mindless taking chances engaging in transparent secrecy, charged by mental concision. 

Rationed compliments ensue and float a kind of math changing place set on youth before. 
T he self, yourself, is fascinating, I think, to squelch tautologies of time, wealth and actionable conditions for surplus misuse as power — nothing stands we might have had. So self takes itself nostalgically forward to contend

— an idea to argue w/ just one note in the pluperfect.. where disrespect ‘crawls to maturity’ and feels like eavesdropping.

What’s semiology? unless we’re in life to gnarl sparkle to figure it out? laboring for invention?
No futures present new phenomena —  what older worlds could say
I have a tiny soft view of holding to their path, a core harmony of former days purring yet put aside. (One dissipates the other.) 

Physicalism (neural brand continuity) adapts, god forbid, to schemes (thought control). 
Government, absent your liberty, is not that impregnable. As background, your charter is one colorful PROCESS shot. A lethal-to-pallid vassal group locksteps to your scent, you yourself clothed less formally, tame save motives for eagerness.  
 
And this is what I did not want to say what you will.  
There is product on the loose. 

Whom will we discover? How? 
Do you both laugh? Per rules,  
regs of sounding it out  
it’s overdue.  
You’re back in vertigo yay 
 
yielding authority with no proxy.  
 
Like a minimalist practicing karate high noon  
: any of your remedy gets exaggerated, desert marsh = bespoke presence  
                                   What’s this the (x) about?  
You say yay. 

Our crash test is named Defens(c)e of Double Identity.  
 
Of course. You.. your desire and I’re / are habits of empire living off the clock, off proceeds, motion futures of one of each you / each of you.   
 
The world-without-end buzz is those who knew slavery rued nonphysical property. 
It’s feasible if you say watch the clock on board.

Agribiz, husbandry, physiology: We’re not all to blame for American beauty and increase, misdirected, featureless, rude
modulating the self to comprise an apotheosis
according to archetypes of aplomb.

Fresh blood
varieties and bounty perspective have changed —

A radiant hierarchy takes off around here, anyone could decay
(
so twist ties
just got better) —

radicalized before they got here
proceeding under a bust of whom Nature has never made..

We note now (at the end to physics-oblivion) 
a headless figure hammering out Bo Diddley —  
Sap is flowing top speed. The command option centered.  
 
Panning back to lend bulk with mud and hate,  
tampering w/ thought experiments.. you love no one 
 
Hey, it’s regulatory = changing the subject cares less, professing a concept  
by looking for the un-enclosed in nominal trivia to ground beauteous paradox —  
 
You change your thought enslaving poetry so you can be taught 
(where all of us are going) ..

O ouch.
I’m not sorry. You’re available to anyone.

This is my first try in three dimensions. 

There were more debris balls thrown so we ordered an atemporal zone of grace 
— w/ the emancipatory normality of curiosity, kindhearted proof — 
Set it to limitless, w/ its winners & losers, one of you for me. 

Trump has depleted America’s reservoir of irony ..
(for those over 30)

Agribiz, husbandry, physiology: We’re not all to blame for American beauty and increase, misdirected, featureless, rude  
modulating the self to comprise an apotheosis 
according to archetypes of daring.   
  
Fresh blood   
varieties and bounty perspective have changed —   
  
A radiant hierarchy takes off around here, any could decay  
(   
so twist ties   
just got better) —   
  
radicalized before they got here   
proceeding under a bust of whom Nature has never made.. 

Uma Thurman’s son.. 
.
Let’s file it down. 
I’m sipping Tropicana on your behalf.  
Taken to your path. Walking in sheer  
All the time, staggering! 

Amount enclosed: Not dying is not not wanting to die, a unique semantic potential assigned an inventory. Dying is not wanting to die and then waiting not to die. (Between waiting, not wanting, desires crowd out a covert, unplayed suite shaped through decades-long derangement..)

..dear my love, you know.

There was a boom in robots once. 
It all came about back in 1st or 2nd grade.  
And if you invest now, daylight garners you  
several that breathe, toting examples of published cook  
-ing ontologies, whatever they got alleged. Memory has it we  
don’t have the brains to enumerate their open peace  
next to some sleeping people staring through the ice.  
 
Is this bluff for real? one asked with good reason  
before the ice scissored out the grade markers. 

Father, son, love, you’re looking up big-eyed instincts?
                                                                              hard  
to get out of the valise. We pirated the code.  
 
I can’t say we pushed it out willingly (nurture, nature, frantic relaxation in stormy gusts).  
The fit is good. 
I noticed you work away from me to make your poise smoke  
w/ the problem being you should prepare.  
 
Your semblance had no results. Call. 

This is not a test. It’s the blues. But naught to tell if it shall go well.  
We’ll leave it at that.  
The place was beautifully democratized with princes. 
 
Due process blows decorum of law...  
Also, it’s easy for you, suddenly, brief minutes, to have less to eat to soften my last interruption using little consonants in your throat.. oft predict you’re holding firm. How many blue songs of parallel scenery can sidewinders take? 

I can’t make it. We’re staying in.
We can’t always gather this way but we do.
New wilderness tracing a wistful landscape, hum-vacuumed, cuddling escalations in body movement, ledgers of age. The brilliant live on in one mis-phrase, a word, and they always have, fudging abasement in a clean confinement serving a purpose within supernumerary states of being (confined). 

Repeat this until approved, 
“I don’t know about you” O astronomy 
But in a tone that’s affirmative  
Like the jeweler’s words for whale  
-bone / measured blues − while  
 
This stretch, like all good luck comebacks, tells a story of the stars dropping hints of a larger, full-mouthed don’t-know − was it something to do with the focus on one side, truth and beauty blocking another? Do we lead a life another sings with you? 

Ode: I’m sleep. 
An only hill / a huge stage 
I’ve been searching  
Awake most nights, debates w/ decay:  
A clean face in the morning − caped  
W/ sounds. Sounds caped w/ light, the best.  
 
When I perceive dogs and woods by the ocean  
Together, like them and like us.  
Can you dig the stillness? Can you keep an eye out, the ocean over. 

Within fortified tyranny we fail to clarify there’s poli rant along with new protocol (manners) to be policed — topics on anyone’s mind (one of any pulse), so a few words take on character. I’m trying to clean [snip]  I have to leave enough after you’re finished / I’m finished, a limiting procedure, so I’m framing it tight, manufactured 
 
− it gives a glimpse into events shaping war or “The Owl and the Nightingale.”  
The passive voice made you angry; counterfeit proposition, garden semantics = key [snap] decisions, arguments, further jibes, the shaming within a sub-class of invective, a face-off to persuade maiden waverers; Julius Caesar, Romeo, Juliet, “Much Ado About Nothing,” “The Battle of Maldon,” where Saxon to Welsh sat on decline benches, threw slurs across the Blackwater banks, add flytings of Skalds of Old Norse in Simone’s Saga, Droplaugarsona Saga, as well as the Scot Dunbar et al, “Montgomerie et Polmart,” plus vomitous insult at one other from Middle Normans freezing progress of the republic of the nightingale.  
It’s time ahead shaped by time that goes by, tyranny all the way down, yet unset.. 

If I could write... The 10 impulses exist in an age to come. Come or tomb? Faces, lies.

Stevens would have lies cut off stubs stretched down in the landscape..
I do think from a scorned point of view. By design we open our front door and see what politics didn’t do. The shortest path ignited by havoc, honest and exhausted people. From it’s-not-the-same-now to the science of celebration — their betrayal is addictive, seamless abandon. 

That insight gives one the strength to make oneself at home, stay there, yours alive ameliorating. One no longer feels naked, no gaps or overlaps in one’s silence yellowing with age; all one commands is weeping, glowing back and forth mistily across an immense daze, half of it waxing with the plump tesselation adorned along mortal circumstance. 

You and I wonder about one summer’s eternal
possessions, the buds, shade & a day
staying chaste .. it’s on the house. 
Feels great out ahead until there’s a threshold. 

In those same terms there’s too hot
a reliance on eye pleasure as well as this 
Optimizing the center where death dies.
It takes more than a single changing course
to snatch lines to time that might breathe if we see. 

Failures in love fell behind, heinous, antique, never in 2 places enough needing permission, shuttered, untainted & bleak, drear, just dumb. 
Translations = ‘live serious & young.’ 
‘articles have been written on the topic of’ = ‘long-lived, still this croaks’ ; 
‘snow falling backwards’ = Ack! s’up(?) / course untainted ; 
 
‘the world of secrets is its own’ = pattern to succeeding circumstance. 

1. Looking back I think commuter bike paths tamper with green space, 
setting up shelves of planning a woman’s face.  
 
2. I soon forgot the meaning of not acquainted.  
Coming clean about adulthood (ubi sunt) is a neat precipice.  
The surface is music twisting intellectually, in shorthand, gilding the object ..  
You and I occupy where we come around the corner from.  
Duh duly rounded.  
 
Men’s eyes first created doting. 
3. Nice but not binding. That can’t stand for best practice —  
not while the restless recover from numbness :  
 
(Their dying to please paid better, pays at once) — 

A minute or more from seemly persuasion
Each year corrupts the ultra-field, tender stream, even rare slang  
On the take; that aside, we’ll stick to truly literal cologne and the elder rules. Be funny and  
comfortable is one.  
 
The lighter second is also ornamental, has more or less fun. Insert / handkerchief.  
Shave twice a week. Does your dad look happy never to hear of thee again?  
 
What can we do without sex and their culture, genius, in huge hems?  
 
Last, best, fair in love. I wanted to ask you about immaculate being, rondure and going out. / According to slung  
Allegory, it’s called Our Taking Their Place. 

Not to arouse undue hearsay, your wellbeing was my concern. I won’t forget. 
And that does it for this rehearsal. Proud exclamations have postponed further multiplying, advancing a counternarrative to slower mechanisms with actual flames that surround gold candles, pressing heaven into feeling nervous in observed time, expanding behind the capitol. Many observers. 

Bernie Sanders pleaded and had more to express: To vote is a rite of federalism. 
Voices in our heads are paranormal. How far is it to the casino? . 
. 
There is a civilizing process to space the perfect ceremony . 
. 

entered into by spotting it first. . 
. 
Before the kill, yoga’s fantastic. You complain I’m brusque. It’s urgent. . .
 
Social justice is in a pickle. Who isn’t? 

A hobby becomes the color of dreams, silent addiction, abundance in the heart. 
Does it hold the same seasonal affect looking for recompense?  
I know what I need, blindfolded.  
 
Concept this.  
Your life is the intervals it contains minus your presence 
In your eyes. 

Your looks, my books ..

An imperfect actor subverts expectations.


Stage fright shows perfection is error.


To appropriate is to provoke too much rage in absentia, unoriginal, deadpan.



The ephemeral triumphs in socioeconomic decay.



Parody pays homage to white gloves. 

I write for money and music. Money 1st. It’s in the blood. 

What’s wrong with a billion for two  

circulating in a branch of Chase Manhattan 

with no memory how it got there?

I’m a little I guess confused 

I thought you might understand I mean  

I'm surprised, do you know  

what I'm saying? I guess so  

not exactly. 

Autumn!: billions of highly intelligent beings with advanced degrees of morphic freedom bank with us! 

We’re playing with a few new features and a couple we move in many directions. Temptation follows.

Their funds are soon to be declared ‘NONCLAIMABLE’ and subsequently turned over to you! 
You’re assured this transaction is risk-free, as we have taken all modalities to be less acrid and gentle, top secret. 

Lugubrious or not, we’ve been informed of your discretion in our sleep / lines from Aeschylus — 

As you forget your first poems, therefore to be assailed.

Didn’t they tell you 

thinner tones and soft muscularity are proof  
 
— our brains are being stolen; after  

we wander back home muttering “TV,  

TV,” a mildly eccentric suburbia  

waiting for a payday of awe-inspiring relaxation.  
Talk? You hoped we might &? 

A poet under a cloud, Byron wrote of the dead among us living 

— what they did is reprehensible, tho they added sor...  

Sorry. The  

substitutes are locked up. They  

have something to do..  
 


..over restaurants in museums  

& cook-dating. They’ll... you  

learn a lot all at once. Absolute  

power over the 3rd last half-century.  

Medicine, agriscience working together ...

To chide your beauty has to be done but it’s one-sided. 
It seemed artificially important  
The screech was spherical.  
A seagull.  
No one’s there.  
 
I missed it.

Bottoming out, your face is inside a very powerful camouflage (instructing us to use it). Your beauty and years.

There were balls of steam suspended in bacteria over our hands, discouraging others. (A boiling kettle contained prescriptions, it’s a guess.) Better now if we not digress but file out a shade apart to trail the other copycats. 

At top the penis is everlovin-elastic to break a truth.

Heaven is in the heart with its egg drop of credos and documents, from which large scale dull instruments get tossed. False to me.

Committed to liberty nothing concentrates like consecutive sentences about our new visual plan and a promise of more. That’s if I’m hit by what I feel in the a.m. I believe you. Evening you’re different. 
You give me a musical temperature, abstract marvel gently assailed.  
Finish a stretch and the clouds get confused, straying.  
 
What are we fixing up? a few rounds of bluish vistas — soft whorls of a moon phase when women leave the lakefront.   
 
The lighting here is just off the boards, like when water lilies kick off their work boots and other women rule. Snipers crouch,   
 
the idea of Burberry’s.   
 
Tiny, simple iterations, the best phases to clobber you. False man. 

Ode on hold a sec. Is that how you see yourself? 
There’s a world truce out there (fraud protection) .. 
(Our addendum is in the mouth) 

By the way, every right wing worm thinks / every owner of a worm is subject to restitution 
even as most tax experts evoke cuddliness w/ breeder values clad in brute colors.. I’m here too, waiting for everyone I can’t stop waiting for.  
 
I live in a container house near the city  
 
and wait on nothing at all, only sustained focus and innovation in nowhere equivalent to a disc. I won’t do it, nah, many thanks.  
I work in text and a garden, that do? .. I’ll grieve later on, turn to pen and ink for human voice breaking glass in an r v to drown out the dog track.  
 
Nah.

Style is a digestive structure in zoology. 

There are faith that’s gone on and consequences. There comes an enrollment
point you caught your waxwork hologram in a partner’s eyes. 
V entriloquating is something. 
No one’s favorite word yet — nice aftershave, Rene 
I got wind of it and put you in — 
Can you be “quoted” in any meaningful sense? 
We have two arrays for time & harmony: 
The ass comment — I know you meant juniper 
within a philosophy (in movement thru spatial dimensions) 
(& the aura of a scent) forward!

Rene Ricard hates known injury, ‘Intimation, insinuation, deep innuendo.  Perhaps something you ate.  Perhaps on lavish nights, like this something you ate.  Boo hoo. Obsessive intimidation..  Not quite theory, string conjecture (an edge to sleep)  W/out inference, compressed from a postdigital “fount” of contradictions:  A piece of research asks, Why erase my beauty  In a way it feels like games?’

We were wondering about invention of the planets, empathizing 
With a numbers guru also the director — one of them. Yours and mine. 
Often that’s a normal baritone and determinative section to sing.  
Not foes, no spite 
Sing: Pigeons pattern heaven where detachment cut back! Getting  
To there uproots the light series, exalted then stiffened into parody..  
 
Reminding my love of a few contingencies we picked up from a tray  
Of bright boomerangs that tantalize in the feasible, wanting nothing and showing  
What go around and come around, left to their own desires and systems. 

He called the youth a positive word.

Reading and living 
Ontologically under-simulates the senses. 
Be furious w/ the world w/ dogfood boxes, be 
Angry at keyholes, too, w/ their conservative 
Counterviews to earnest alignment as one’s sure timing slips 
Into the prowess of floating unquietly 
Into apothegms, into sidesteps of fine voice, 
“A voice and nothing more.”

Second poem: Someday all this will be yours. Five hundred 
City blocks that lean socialist along  
An untapped atmosphere of noir swing, slovenly  
Housekeeping and altho you steal from me, puckish flair  
And snappy dialog 
Bearing love’s wrong.

A trivalent bond forms at birth, blocks our death. 

There are two ambient music cartels as well: Doggone moosebirds and dwarfs striking poses with all their operatic powers. De rigueur for now is writing over known injury to outrank others in the trivalence. I won’t do your religion, good day. 
Just piano and voice. Sunken gardens with a fountain of moods for each of Four Corners. 

I wish you had taken that job singing of thingness.  
Even so, if you could eat onlyone food for life, what would it be? “Take notes,” you called out. You were singing of a provisional throb as you forced his from the inside.   
 
I miss the walled city where an operator like him looks up when you arrive at this next step. . 
 
Try to remain calm. I’m going to talk you down. 
We'll take the stairs, because the elevators refuse to go with people in them.  
(Ok, you there? Bye.) 

We just saw (a few feet minutes from now, however)
your address changed. We could have done it differently before
you discovered the user charts; the parent company was yours before you took over.

You’re not going to be delirious are you?
Just for a stretch of language...
taking me from sleep where I rewrite chain letters you refuse to answer...

Good for you. Good for you!

I’m lost? I’m not familiar
with the neighborhood?

You’ve got a nice view of it
from up here.

Here we go. I got you.

Here we are.

I got you, I got you.

Got my back?
I got you. It’s okay.

You sure that’s why you’re here?

We have no boundaries and can go no further. See below.

A dictionary of Indo-European roots lists derivatives for gno = know, can, cunning, ken, kith, kin, uncouth, notice, notify, notion, notorious, cognition, recognize, connoisseur, quaint(?), ignore, noble (known, knowable), gnomon (diagnosis, prognosis), narrate (from Latin gnarrare); & these less ‘probable’ links = note, annotate, norm, abnormal, enormous. 



Poets, I guess, know this, so someone’s dismissal of another's work by shrug / hum is unclear thinking, a mark of unknowing. Patterns of dismissal show a settlement of ignorance. Ignorance comes easy, tho, among conservatives like me. First is not reading. I won’t buy the book, if given the book, I’ll sell it. Second, there’s reading just to find a formal quality (scanning?). Can I do this? What’s the vocabulary like? This reveals a poco inquisitiveness, but it’s all about willful typecasting, bracketing in other words streamlined for not reading further. For face to face ignorance, there’s not listening or not listening much or listening to find an opening for my chance to speak (hey do you like what I do?). Hanging around other egos like mine is just not fun, unless, of course, there are compensating abnormalities. 



What I want are noble communities of uncouth poets who not only notice one another but stay awake & narrate Oh. If it’s abnormally sweet, you’ll be the first to know.

— drafted 2003

Oh My God, I so adore you. I thought I was alone in my hatred. 
Task me, praise me about something else that’s forced.. 
Stop hurling new foodstuffs, sour leisure.

The telling problem with engineering simplicity... You knock over others (even bringing it up). I don’t mean rampage in a civil sense, I mean surgically knocking other chanters Off, throwing knives, wrecking them From the inside, slicing up! I was kidding I’m not religious.

Politics is the gene expression omnibus. 
Each of us is one viral video from partisan fame.  
 
Vanity is promotion.  
Amen to white boats opposing innocence.

He has no name then is name is absence and torment. His life is built around sane choices w/ a sense of a person, even though in a few seconds, I’m in memory * of that person to come. Haw. 
 
That a fact?  
Some don’t hear clearly when one’s “voice” joins others’ to deepen ultimately anonymous expressions of desire. * The memory part is mostly vice versa.

Been holding our tongues. That’s how it works. 

Non-interference in charge, under which an authentic kindergarten, bourgeois language, genetic dance and charades get raised and quest is forcibly asserted. Working against deadline shaped the last phase of withdrawal from our deadlock with future attributes. Oedipus meantime, our founder, targeted a fan like me because of ageless obligations to familial platitude, his camouflage in plain view, the better part of stiff winds over centuries-old middle ground.

Too excellent but passing concern:
IF we have an idea to process a text or artifact, subject to analysis, THEN how does the text or artifact change ways of analyzing the process? Does the result generate inquiry into both (a) who, how, when, why subjects of analysis came about and (b) any utility of further application or adaptation?

The mind is a beautiful tool of late capitalism (the unwitting effect and cause).



Capitalism stands at the American curb, a whiff of more aroma
waiting, eyes unblinking.

( Or one could seek documentation, semblance, something Swiss..

 From now on the mind is Switzerland, ok? Two eyes
belong everywhere, you’re breathing into everywhere. ) 

Capitalism thus gets to give up its dude ranch, akin to rustic factories, a way further west to prey on the drunk and disorderly. This is the highway the slug runs out on, leaving us a little dizzy. You’re the 10th dude / muse..


I was wondering what the ... 

The mind just kind of sits there. It wants to be best
friends. It’s saved us burgers.

My muse wants subjects to invent ..
It’s our advantage being excommunicated. 
Being British, it’s not our nature to boast. Fortunately, we don’t have to. 

We’re British.

I had the idea surviving —  
vibrant feelings on an obviously fair day 
washed in over time — (if we need one)  
What do you need now and for what?  

Does it matter, that light and grey question?  
Do you test, tease, defame to get the best?  
 
I ducked his punch, closed the distance.  
I told him, no, I want to bolt. Add a little piece  
 
in today’s Times calling Merce Cunningham’s  
choreography Democracy in Action. A refreshing run around  
the clique-minded,  
 
There are Cunningham’s last figurines / their aptness in transit 
when pragma-morphism brainstorms over noncombatants,  
absent zest vapors make-shifted to pulp —

I love needing what tv does, colonizing until the wheels fall off. 
Nearly sunset in coconut milk. Skinny ‘eventude’ brings on waves of fluttering, populist rage, some dishonest dogs. (Tv dogs taught to come, fetch, force it down.) All in favor held under pressure.  
 
Channel surfing here in the cranberry state I see immigrants mix well w/ bohemians, capitalist people, people people, subjectivity with certain rights for a life entrenched w/ exigency — it feels very large here. We’re on tv.

The sky is in the air, a hue of golf balls. 
That color was discontinued, for historical justice.  
Days are broken into seasons separated by regions. 
Our supply chain deals fatalism as an element of allegory  
shaping and twisting regions of all desire, except a ready  
-made means to change the supplier that feeds us these days. 

Craning one’s mien goes on in e.r.’s, time passes — comments from nonreaders, movies, lies — freedoms in this vein takes off at many a midpoint. It’s personal, e.r. managers tell me. It’s almost impossible to write enflamed birdsong and comb back your hair at the same time.. Can you do that? 

Light with a spooky edge 

To sound off like your own critic.

Nothing is such in all cases. This brings on what works mostly. Life is short and good grooming drives you all over. No longer victims,
you and I grabbed that as a ladder we shouldn’t overuse — 
A moment to stare out the window, a lamp over my shoulder to herald the swindle in wind farming.

Sunlit fauna, our pets, heard quadratic conditions in the smasher anthem  
area, speaking an argot of a woodland pedigree. 100 years Marxian  
 
yet morphine-ghosted by indecent 
schooling (successive getaways), then — second — boutiques  
of collared hospitality where combined  
 
tea and smoke and banter cool out the good panic. Third, all our drive is spli-  
ced over a magnum of nor’easters while service and art precincts  
sidle up the hill from the harbor. Predictable top looks   
 
rig their sawtooth nakedness mauling stubble  
headland askew sundry wharves... backed by an anguish of ocean storms 
 
doing problem sets here with hens of steam; the verdict  
goes beyond weatherbeaten sounds in painting preproduction  
pouring kerosene to kindle tomography 
for having brooked Toscanini’s kind.

Baby Wateau — 
The cake sale is falling — stretch small Hoosiers baker and we’re on the move (like IRA Nippon mirrors).

Voices in funnels, a trickle down of their futurity, 
Dropping your sights — now rising  
— the fastest way to earn points. And yet 
We’re surrounded, opening  
I write poems for children, progeny  
Forward, a debit resonance disproving their successors —   
 
We’re nothing their voices bell without words.   
 
Make a difference, make an offer.

but I have to smile
                                       The emptiness that was 
one fine day... 
                                       A uranium-brimmed scree 
insubstantial, to dawn ‘disappeared’ 
into the leg o’mutton of oblivion : 

You behind the seen evaporation 
 
— we owe you nothing  
 
                                                  falling out w/  
your idea of daylight and sexual theater on the same sheer precipice..  
every day becoming ordinary knowledge  
 
of parallel ebullience  
 
                                                  waiting to come up  
half in sleep, 
steadfast in geometry to grant the horizon an horizon, the whole body. 

O Jesus 
A severe honey glow  
crowning his shoulders — groomed  
disgust in his walk, his mystic theater practice 
perhaps already addressing us, the radiant  
pull at his mom’s sleeve  
emptied of the given moment.

Denis the Menace grew a pair this summer. I now have a boyfriend. We’re in love, we’re out of it, we’re trying to run each other over, and it continues, since I’m first and last bored with superordination and thought about having no chapter delineations, just paragraph breaks. 

It’s up to future officials to unpack failures’ base ironies. Failures of autumn. Where are they, let’s see... I’m not picking up any .. acoustics. Where I am, they don’t hook up to 
let supplies flow out since they  
make love too much — so and because every irony wants to stay on a comfort-slope, to live well too, staying relaxed can lull you into an ex-jazz tranquility or the language instinct’s sentimental counterreactions.  
 
That’s failure up to now.

Prose gets along in a poem. It has a work permit. That’s why  
The place has been wiped clean of unforced errors.  
 
A poem essay invests in spontaneity gleaned from what icons blur;  
Bourgeois think war unjust when there’s no one to lose it. Hoy  
 
Until now there were no bourgeois poet essayists.  
Yet, we could rubber any room —  
My advice for exploring ideas, stick to the sentence. 
To go along continue needing riches.  
Thanks for writing.

nearness...

BF Skinner watches a boy develop — to spy on sleep when you can’t dream... parking spaces have a word with him. Children are the future —  
keep them distracted.  
And  back to you. If you lock your room you can’t get anywhere. Ask Caligari. Bright blues in white, a looming sluice through the discomfort zone. Here we go... 

I don’t deserve friends like you.

Staring you in the eyes
In my illusion  of minimalism 
I scored my first wormhole on schedule. The entity, no,  
I should say the accretion settled down  
Without us, lost and scattered trying to remember.

One assumption is tomorrow’s flight will be an extension of how it’s going now. 
A disclaimer in Chinese contains characters that aren’t pronounced  
Or displayed. It says you have an upgrade but there aren’t any. 

Here’s how I hitchhike. I come across an organizing principle and pull a trigger or 2, replacing subject matter with source text, exploring only some musts: structure, acquisition, re-use, mixed media — no Eros in ideas, the best except the pure. One who hitches has no right to speak other than excellently. Self-conflict and compromise keep coming up as rich bases for ironic pleasure and symphonic failure. If that’s allowed. Primitive patterns and blue throats, crowbars taped to a tree, in the distance, Eroica... We haven’t been far away — the fields are twenty, chips are foam, our clothes thrown, The great We of fish, that’s what I say on a sea plane worked into the sky.

Unable to help you play a single practical joke, we hadn’t spoken for months, having found direction and refinement backstage of a ‘construction zone’ perforated by mirrors, swindles, procedural lunges toward more praxes and pranks. I said I had had it. 
 
And I had. And something else.. 
The 10,000 mistakes by that boy who won’t correlate the enormity of it all as evolutionists run back to hear more about causality —  
 
Yet the context’s unlocked, to no ideology hewn. I am 
 
Eve, a financial planner ahead of my time. 
I’m still not finished, Adam says.  
We can spot them both as atheoretical elaborators, since they spoke first.

One cause is smudged
with distant intervention — you have a touch —
a tide pull by the book, explicit, the rim and pliant brush of acreage  
possessed by that touch.  
 
The practice of emotions, a snake tail in
quiet, basso tones we won’t know until edged
into a few phrases, foiled by moments of tact,
an authentic balance awaiting silence.

Anxiety is highly readable to a point. 
The 13th century dealt supremacists,  
Morning everyday, never end;  
Our participation as peons per chance — an 18th century  
Add-on, landed class generality swallowed / over cooked  
 
.. fond farts, good governance beyond words turn into toast and spoors — tant pis, 
hardly these timeworn physical data waving in rocks of sunlight, gaunt and obese  
blowing cold. 

With continued use
A lot of faces head off the wave.
I'm ending both.

Tv interview: 
The enigmatic eaten alive by song layouts. 
The strategy goes on because it’s clear.

Burying the syllogism for life. 

Oh, and incidentally, I can’t keep working with you 
Looking over my shoulder. Don’t be afraid,  
Just kick back and relax, the year will be half over.  
Summer .. if I could let myself be carved completely in a cloud.  
 
I should add I don’t know anything about microspores, also ..

I’m leafing through your agility pouring out seeds, turning over new seedlings —

I should add I don’t know anything about microspores, also 
Heavy pollen, nothing! I should add I’m living on borrowed-spores. 
I haven’t done tranquility either! — not even a truce.. 

Making up a to do list! blinded by periodic breakthroughs 
Tho a pragmatics circumvents the will to mend things — 
The focus is on nothing we won’t do..

No interviews today. Triumph* is creepy**. 

*Creepiness, unlike triumph, widely construed as inaudible tendencies toward plundering contexts to alter the body’s asymmetrical neuropsychology. 



**Authentic triumph, group or personal, cannot be construed.

The tallest paintings remeasure your height.


 Painting ideas.



You had heard maggots eat accelerated paintings stretched onto canvases of different sizes, gloomy jigsaws, severed threads, sticky placards in paint that’s waste emaciated into planes of junk and emptiness.

Painting double quotes. 

Thudding airline: The prosecution collapsed 
But you hand over your sack of warrants.  
 
In the end the evaluations are in. Jumbo on  

Justice, liberty, rule of law...  
 
Time to concentrate on that killer c.v.  
It’s about warrants for words, Might (Mate). Future thickets.  
 
It’s so much satori — Enablers will cooperate fully.  
For you, a love interest can get calculated —   
 
Back to work, first it’s  
 

Urgent we go out and get wasted.  
 
The mood then passes from desolating satire to  
Constant put-downs you parrot like executive control  
 
— Holding firm in the wilds where fireworks will be slowly ignited  
“In the slumbering gaze” parallel kill and be killed, united obliteration. 

“With..past falling..” That’s good, because I sneaked across those gimme-erotic catalysts. (I don’t remember whose or how.) 

I’ll subsist in attrition finding and picking up purviews “encircling travel” — a shore in maneuvers pitched way up like mores with infectious provisos, integers-to-be and no buzz to fix. 
A buzz beats my eyes open when I (am or) was looking ragged but in a studied, not irresponsible way, reading and taking dictation to wrap up sleep.

Writing in a voice for a glass room that rings of convoluted propaganda, in finger paint. 

With brush and paint I take dirt off a crescent metal, easy to pick up, feed and embrace after the climate changes.  

Go on, tell us about your background in propositional aesthetics (affiliates who you think are like you but aren’t). 

Sitting down delivers the good news, stateliness while steering already had its faint say. Now we can text and ‘drive’ over time and zeta functions mowing down hedgerows as highway dividers along an infinite axis.

Jail 
is my safe house until I can’t stop  
fixing the straps I tore  
for you.

The vision comes spontaneously
— never forward your resume
or IQ to a date.

Showing results for innuendo: ‘You’re good. Doing this, I offered. Just 
Report to duration centers for the rich for best pricing, unless  
Theft looks better. Go. Fees balanced. Eject.’   
Thanks, then you told me repetitive motion went further —   
Making money w/out reason is mass   
  
-ive. After.. surely if that’s the mood, there are vector   
Utilities for expressing enzymes posthaste..   
  
— national perfume! spritzed to scale.. on your check.

We already have what we ask for.
Vainly but not fast in never induce italics: 
We gave it up at the Office.  
 
This is hardly ever for the 1st time  
disappearing in molecules like other words, just molecules ago.

Modulating the self comprises an apotheosis 
according to types of daring.  
 
Don’t smolder, show us.

The state has its say displayed on the second floor.
Eminent domain: Dawn went. You were next. Nothing else. 
Not to arouse the unknown or undue, your well being was my concern.
I won’t forget. 
And that does it for this hour. Circumstances have postponed further equity w/out a contract double day, w/out you = one counter-narrator chuckles in introspection as one picks at your rhapsody rights, erasing them (or trying) in observed time, laughing behind the capitol. Many observers. 

Stacked tonal asperations. 
The luminous patina of an excommunicant / He thought about SciFi from the  Sixties / Of a bright, lit, obvious labyrinth / All of his life as if he  were a mercurial creature / As if meeting death half-way by making connections / The kind of greenish pallor you’d desired — 
 
He thought about SciFi from the Sixties / As the furry chestnut shadow turns from the window / Fighting the relative fight to endure / His coat with his  assassin’s bullet, effluvia and life / All of his life as if he were a mercurial  creature / Etc.

Not a problem — for a relief pitcher staying blithe in the win column, changing into a tenebrae-stitched uniform, eco-conscious and cool in response to one’s frantic cells. 

Collaborating on 1’s entrance essay: 1 firmly believes 1 can do this. The question is the same. 

Nothing went wrong?  
 
Part 2: Question losses, excesses.*  
 
*The answer is the same. Next, we did our homework, which was study more for a spelling bee.

Celebrity stalkers.

We invented Hubble.
What we thought we knew
we enjoyed making dumb-
great from the top
terminating in masked handlers.

Following orders we reflect their mistaken identity,
immune to sudden desire with intimacy.
What have we got to lose?

What can be done to language? Never again?

Boredom is poor experiment, our supervisor said; and that’s what we wrote down to snap out of it — lightness, joy, eyes-open dream. And 3rd cousin to dream. Knower and known are clean osmosis in reverse! It’s clearer every day we’re way behind the suitably flared frontier. 

Time I guess to air-lift over my eagerness. I’ve been a floater of cynicism in relation to any concept I sever. (It’s hard for me to take credit.) “It’s always about dying,”
Btw, “never death.” As a cousin, as to ‘never,’ I never never. I consider myself a neurolinguistic product manager. Once removed.

                                   Absenteeism:

*

don’t pick anyone else...

Your bromide is familiar. Let me grab a pen. You’re gaining attention for the wrong reasons, dummkopf. Stay where you are. Exploit the familiar, even an inkling. Glow fast.

The cosmos is unwilling to go far, now or later, this way or that — what we inhabit is neither a stoner planet nor merely a plywood-and-particulates object flown in time (w/ fewer and fewer afterparties). Earth turns out an enormous intimation as sexual icon, promoting death, laughter.

Those laughing are listening, assuming we’re incandescent.

I believe 
There’s a way we recover from this and most happiness / as litigants in pleasure henceforth —  

The sports-arts-logic of pleasure once there was a C-class  
and we stay on board ..  
 
Breathe, kick, push, kick, four / five ..  
 
It’s about letting go and taking you out of context —  
 
Yeh, sure, take me on your own.

They want to call it heaven.
You have reached HR. Unemployment ‘better’ than 50 .. Which you are you? 
 
After the fall you ran a plutonium on consignment thinktank. You thought that would be one formal outcome. Or would if you used to.   
 
Darn if you weren’t a sophomore at it when you did 
And naturally you know you’re a misfit for an assignment like ours. 

New Hebrides calls for a quirk of sculpture in a spatial recession. The joy of employment  
 
Is light. Hai, the tank answered to its dark alter ego; oh, the specificity is lost. [Get this, a thinktank that speaks among its selves, as a supposition. .] 
 
Take info about and in form to bullet the ideas, grading your results.

As he got closer he realized he was his age 
or maybe a couple of years younger, not edged.  
Esthete’s fingers wrapping Lalique.  
 
Both minds let drift as if  
dragging him underwater, & he grasps why..

We have empty form in perpetuity and a hip cast of super
Angels strumming harps for a full encore of Zeus Arrhenothelus 
Bringing up larger drama for the stretch and preen in vigilance — 

Fall back, breathe while new cast members get authenticated — 
Casually removed or 

Restored at a slight remove since we sport a manifold wave
From darkness everywhere like most vacuum ..

I’ll tell you what awaits the weary in The Bible. Locusts.

I forget what really and concretely mean to nature. 
My post values are really skewed, I forget William Blake.  
I forget historicism. 
I forget the Kennedys and the Dead Kennedys. 
It’s the same wearing bangs.

Then it happens. A man’s voice, handsome, calm, also nervous ab structure. 
Protecting a man’s dignity threatens it. Everyone knows that. 
Bathing — 
‘worth the trouble’ — called out in a tremblor voice to children
blurring the terrain, 
stenciled closure. He shouts,

The secretary of defense is weeping over a condolence note. 
No one writes like this, pulsating — it’s wonderful. 

A miracle. 

Nobody like me is cast to be annoying; I just fell into it. The problem, as an affect and prerequisite, engineered simplicity holds the coordinates for pouring tonic over glass tables of other people. Internal ‘gears’ regulate due caution, rushing in nauseous effects, which are natural, to your personal advantage, and which you have to waive anyway, as though privileged opposition were some huge treasure, my sweet.

A private-public distinction 
no longer limits outcomes for a buffered work force. 
 
Besides giving empathy  
I write on my agenda,  
 
A vapidly growing thing 
once I launch it —  
 
I got married without knowing the side effects  
  — wait, I forgot why I called.

The air is sawed off, doing better. We were dangerous, once. 
Smooth rhetoric is purely transparent. It’s too late to make it sparse.  Even our restraint is wishy for its own sake.

Here’s my favorite.

Baking is a big puzzlement of natural selection. The audience rises.

(That is, artisans rising, impetuous, some from costive stock, unflappably happy, even brusque.)

Somewhere I float in. I’m late for the prom fitting, weeping inside. Funny place

for a dance, Mr Baker.

You put a question mark after feeling genreless, it becomes a pick-up line.

There is no personality, so why beat anyone up? We can read back over found work but never go back to walk the innocent-seeming turret and loggia built by others’ labor, overlooking our conditional first day together...

I’m going to avoid your rut and stick with my own.
Nonviolence resolutions have been approved. Staring into the candle you think,
meaning on. This temple is the place for not speaking definitions. You find
no meanings for speech or new meanings, good as gossip to evade a “mixed speaking strategy” to
partner with whom, exactly? O realization in a flash.. 
 
I have a steady girl now. I have rage stamped inside. I have it  
everywhere within

a burning zone. 
 
Only years later rather I took a word bath, which isn’t often.

We could see from a distance, your rakish note to yourself, my mixed medium .. 

As I understand it the exact second you insert the first-person, a sand rampart like a moral freedom can and will drill five feet down and under the ground, a strafed, natural spectacle falling into coherence, something you never saw and you never will, you gestalt freak.

Here comes Mr Jones In life, he and they would understand. True and lost — complex, gangly, mostly mute yet histrionic, anticruel 
-ish. They apologize for the inconvenience of curricular adjustments.  
Tons of special forces in silhouette .. polished from water .. on day one we’ll ..  
Correct everything near the top filling in with capacitance-assistants, eventually
Theorists of a visual world culture (camaraderie) wholly populated by posturing. 

Matins in 4 scary minutes: 

Capitalism never hesitates beating then shooting the innocent into space but each victim goes broke, sighing take me, kill freely and find me Guy Laroche. O outer knee —    
 
This is done all over doing it over — 
Never doubt..ew..there’s enterprise in victimhood, each higher up will argue. There’s one problem. Only cash in small bills in exchange for a free ride, we mean it, tho, let’s discourse, subject to chance ..

A Deux Magots adaptation:
Robots embrace the free market, it was announced in a penetrating tone,


a pale mist of drifting nothing. Blameless, nonetheless free of anguish for the moment.
The masters picked that up from them.. ..wolves running through snow melting into wolves..

Leaves are no longer the leaves, you think?
Don’t come near — I’m writing in a fraught cycle of perpetual panic. 
The set director had called for vinyl yellow corn husks outside french doors in the territorial room where they proceed with surgery to remove complainant fat.. 
. 

Not yours, happily. But close enough . .  .
 
The screenwriter, who cheated our father, wants to stay chic simple, s/he develops the fat — tints it solar . . 

Then changes fat to windows .  . 
. 
And the surgery is successive! The windows break down with no views.

I’d like to thank the Academy.

Goliath, Duchamps, Sinatra!

IT warned me of overrefined emblems and their sweeping reproach. I’m not religious. Not by a long shot, snow in September? I took note of what you like from the beginning and became pope. Your pope. I had a few ideas in mind. I put on my pants and left.

Oh, tech services... tell us a little more about your miserable ontology affecting checks, balances, and mantra logjams —

How did worldviews crumble into environmentality to pantomime the inference undercutting American literacy?

I can’t win, that’s the end of inattention. 
More bounce for the retina to unscrew my internal hysteria pouring up but  
embarrassing, rocking like breaking news, losing both death and life, dropping your  
rogue’s whip down over my heels.

Princess Pavel, the most cinched at the waist of the trio, interrupts Murf while cheater Zoubok jumps into a collaged kitten mural of plastic numerals joined by static hanging threads in back. 

First up, an acrobat for the moods Pavel evokes in my mind. A watercolorist also emerges for enhanced abandonment during and after pressing and spinning flowers. 

Ouch! buckets of rain have come, undistinguished and gone away. Someone has cut the grass, no favors, that greeny, wettish smell is everywhere. Hay. Optimism. 
Remember to slam the parentheses behind you 
) bang and ) bang and ) ) double bang 
(to be on the safe side). 

— James Schuyler

Neither dead or alive, the windmill in your imagination has a request, 

“to express things ... as they are when you see them without remembering having looked at them.” It’s an infinite standard for feeding you vocabulary until climax, numbered like fruit. 

Since giving up on poetry, singalong has vaulted to the top of our agenda. Leaving office has a double meaning to off-center the filing (filtering) system and other singularities I’ve kept newly-kind for years. We have no limits to affirm any retractions, feeding our reliance on illumined work, dire pleasures, majestic plans and, this most generalized I guess, burningly turning back, watching the wax dim.

What of?
I’m like everyone else who grew up refusing novels, a nutshell
of a wonk glaring, boasting bragging rights over inexact outcomes, crayon-ing smiley,
boundless love non-judgmentally!
Of course I did time performing autopsies on “live people...”

Aren’t we supposed to feed the bad dogs? Yes but summer, winter? Minutes after the work is filed, dozens stand in line for a treat, free rein over the sentence.

You were good to give us storylines, battle scars, vanity, thrills, sky 
dogs, paint & sloppy intercourse under conditions that surround ourdesire 
to laugh down compliments from insurgents binding heartache.

Of course I did time as a stealth pathologist performing autopsies on “live people.” Subjects were mostly strung out on sofa sectionals — big, jaunty shapes who swaddled their inner pooch / pooches — yes I’ll love you better —
I’d say I am a pervert approaching you as a woman / who is a man thinking she’s he of the pulverized dots

— I duck their punch however and close the distance. Nothing more.

                        ...speech is streaked w/ extra
sensory blather —

I’m going to leave you in the middle of the city where you belong, you robot of a dog.

All your life as if a mercurial quantum.. floating in erotic lurches and nibbling torque measured across dotted lines.. 
 
On and off I discern your underwear, a denomination marked by intimacy. They pill.  
 
Yeah, that’s funny.  
 
Take all of mine.

We are free — still — to say what some think — but their recipes, or ours, are perfused with given theory. Trees in place, defiantly miscellaneous, thanks to a compliant Leitkultur, treeways on a berm, backdrop to the ideal civil democratic union with permissions built on headwinds — 
 
yet with as it were or without manners. Good manners can scar others but they also let us peons act like participants in marking time as tho subscribers to the regulatory plutocracy.  
Either way, I know so little about the state and the state so much less — these are facts slaughtered by memory.

The drill of local news, temperature, hours of indebtedness, mayhem, a fascinating stack of known challenges — locale reduced to the economy, co-rejecting isms not centric. Both influence perception, both engage what leftists and the right make up as sources. Nothing in between. Nothing to uphold. More below.
It’s simple (the invention of worship is over.. )
(so much over: the topic is civility, imparting numeric dicta slathered across century-old middle ground) the themeless module (where we sleep) and fields of action (and continue playing around vulgar innuendo to stay kind, as you undress to force a smile) fully emancipating me to feel obliged to receive you generously.

At a new level of storytelling that hang-in-there spirit nationwide is on your side. 
 
It goes with a backhand irony like a pigeon guided missile or extra guards at the gate.  
The front gate won’t front  
As there are centers of wishing beyond closed doors.  
 
All batteries are charged (that’s the feeling). I’m pouring  
Molasses over my track pants ‘stitched’ with microfiber — I’m about to walk the spiral and more!  
while chestnuts stand around in jobbed hoards.  
Coupons expire.

Poetics process stuff. Ketchupy.
The coast is never clear, fat boy.

Back when there was a hell, each deemed sufficient and inclusive for the occasion.
It’s easy, too distinguished and uniform now. 
Once back in the day the fair-minded had complex appetites, 
when pragma-morphism brainstormed over innocence — 
never happened.
In the larger context there was no recidivism to fashion. 
Dante nibbled fast, in very mumbled tones... under a huge, ampersand-shade of grace. 

There was a terrific wine list — and that made for grace twists, 
drinking perfusions, he had at strangers shedding their platform shoes.

The mind just calculates sitting there. It wants to be best friends. It’s saved us a burger. 
An idea of glimmers, aroma:  
The deeply sad mother in pink out back, grill in place, waiting —

Light and casual in a threatening male supposition, 
I still haven’t figured out why — I’m restricted to a world without suffering that can’t exist. 
In addition, it’s hurling we are now separated.

I still haven’t figured out why I’m restricted to a world without suffering
That can’t exist. 
From here it all seems like a miracle;
it’s sad we are now separated.

Celebrity stalkers are in the grips of mistaken identity, immune to sudden desire with intimacy. What have they got to lose? 
Bags and bags of money for one paid to reflection in infinite battle with consciousness.  
China’s philosophers are not unique carrying on the tradition Massasoit transmits. 

Camille under command matures into familiar splashes of watercolorist anesthesia: Takes my place being places (an event in tropes) — 
 
Meantime, ping. We’re here for discovery thru inflection in lap pools of condensed matter from excursions in the aquatic world.  
The named oceans are dated, right, left 
Pouting, getting better! When they come to — there will be perorations re-framing rainwater within fairer scents rimming sunlight in suspension, ripped,  
 
Amputated chutes!  
 
Grape vines burst out, nonlackluster. Though I love grime, Camille’s guilt-making — her carrying me thru, unphased: She does this to deplete me of hope.  
 
1st choice for a sonnet is to solve for x. Be funny and coalesce.  
 
Dear multiple choices from eternity: Send a message I can wolf down. Convey a sense of urgency that’s superfluous. Then put Camille off.

’Recursive perception‘ — 
For your birthday (bleak as mine, too) I came straight from the agency, this text’s agility welded to the dirty space in which I wrote “Potential as Pretext in Recursive Perception and Action,” which seemed all I wanted to think of, ambiguously, in pastels.

It was everything.

How the cosmos is unexplained, parts one and two. In the first, taxonomies are set in weathered deco, dimly lit by the affiliated overflow while astronomers stand there from a famous university with nothing to give back.

In the mental part, covert specialists use tightly wound diversions to gain advantage for incriminating thoughts. They march with different cause-ists and solons halfway; paternalism indulged through wisecracks. But most of the others, humanists, are reformed as divas and idiots in the minority and they take the bullets; why? 

Fun and determined. What shall we dredge today?
A friend notes, 

Tonight’s salad won’t contain nor belong to itself. 

Or 

tho commitment is delicious, to tell it so to its face = sucking up.. 

taking nothing for granted 

..we’ll leave the d.r. to the nothing-firm maligners = our foreheads are void just thinking that way, why? — as if adapting to a contest between decentered sets! 
Dioramas later 
soaking up positron equations I might italicize sex (our hobby and bent!) enabling us to commune midstream freely by the humming fireside. Yes? 

Yep. I’m not picky. I’m trashing anthropological-foam-bearing puffiness, that’s all. There. Chucked.

A dress. Dresses. 
 
Now she’s spilling bourbon over my a-line, all thumbs to keep our game up & running. Likewise I’ll write about it. As poet-jewel thief wearing a dress, you might think it profitable to string her sentences together like paste rubies & artificial pearls deliberately mismatched, like John Waters’ suburbs, adroitly inexpensive and passé. Each sentence shines in gloom as ends won’t match up with beginnings, not quite, each sparkle dulled into an afterthought containing falsehoods but cinched by faintly plausible, recognizable style — sparkle doubled down, my other dress draped over bowls of Chesapeake crabs & crab traps, a near accident or an accident-in-the-making. She might desire to push a personal datum, like me or your notion of having sex as linear as the death of a family member..  
It went pants & belts from there.

Stop waving that grape juice ...
That was sentries ago and since
The atmosphere upsurged when language is tired. His eyes fill with manpower.
His hair’s on the brink.

The climate showing my cards — a friend lead me to him,
A sure bet ad infinitum.
He smiles with no doubts about my bluffing knowhow & innocence
... the rain keeps raising the mind’s oceanfront, bringing it all back.

The big thief in American poetry? 
Dickinson speaking: I never win, she says. Except evenings.  
Management feel mortified, 
  So exposed they feign ignorance, wander aimlessly  
Taking off (in their heads, at least) for better moments  
Until new urgencies emerge  
Or life capital to breed more catches on.  
 
Man, she is weird. Is there room in the room  
For further origins, cribbage boards? A friend’s long ‘a’  
As in umbrella? Let’s rewrite Biotherm, she says.  
I fear her sarcasm.  
Composition for her is sardonic comfort with a sober edge.  
Mgmt leaked this against her wishes.  
 
Same day a pervert is attacking my persona.

Cliché inflects necklines. But I like your flask.

* 
The 10 impulses do not exist 
So that the singular could be correct appears 

A flaw 2 syntactical secessionists — 

No ironic separation, we were on our feet. Stepped on toes. This 
Could keep up as long as 1 cared 2 bring a monster like Trump 2 headstrong, crocodile tears. 

That’s what 1 impulse looks like or sounds like, not is.

In evolution we have an identity crisis
when who knows how I’m doing this

for our agenda? Near the teary top we crate
handiwork, cover it with a power tarp, drained of weight.

Moss alive! I could lose another i.d. if any of this touches us. Or ours.
I used to have a power dependency that’s reasonable to regret.
I think it’s polite to say ‘power,’ not ‘ostentatious pensiveness for hours.’

Oh my god, I so adore you. I thought I was alone in my hatred.

You can exit the room at any point, burning, or add features to nodules, as in rote ed like foundational philosophy.

Channel whatever.
It reminds me of a nude in harm’s way.

Discordant how I was scared in the dream
where we come back to having it all wrong.
We’re both wrong but it’s negative matter
only to some
spasmodically.

You embody most everything I've lost to live longer.
You can light a fire and duped
combatants (verse classics) suck up to the surface for a face off.
You looked right at me.
I cancelled mah dental work coz it was Carnival
centa of tha street I was yo a piece of tha parade ...

Nothing is unimportant. Send for Fr Pierre. 
“A transit of showdowns.” 

Begin for free.. 9. Let’s call this time left.. if 
outside in a cloud sounds too.. liberal? Our guard was up a lot.  
..that triangular jot ...  
of 10. That a phone or finger of?  
How do parallels threaten a referent? Which fox drug is best?  
12. The manifesto won’t.. 
13. Spot the dog.. or now his surrogate intruding a moment before he’s lost,  
emptied. Intrusions entail teamwork, coincidentally.

So I put my name in. Just one. Am I fit for the scenario? The next one. Are you and I? I ran out of balls rating you. Instead of my lives, I found so much of what you say emancipating, but our data are adulterated. You’re driving me nuts. 

I flash to the new real place. And I’ve never been more uplifted, more unnerved by a chamber piece somberly floating in fun stuff, the best except for the impossible, now audible signs of history, of intention, preparing us for a fixed melody with renewed power. 

Unless there is nowhere else.